This, that, and cheese

Do you what a difference six or eight degrees in temperature can make? Today we were in the upper 90s, lots better than the 106, 108 we’ve been having. And the humidity is low. This morning I put the top down on my car on the way to an early morning haircut appointment—about a 25-minute drive by my back roads route. What a glorious way to begin the day.

My funk is disappearing, although my uncertainty about walking is not. When I went into the salon, I asked a stranger to get me started—it’s that first step. I’ve found all kinds of people so willing to help me. Coming out, just because I’d been spooked, I asked Rosa, who does a terrific job with my hair, to walk me to the car. She is like a mother hen, worrying about me. She has a two-year-old who has been slow to walk, and this morning she said I walk just like him—awkwardly (not her word), like I’m looking for what I can hang on to next. At home, I walk just fine. It’s a matter of a comfort zone.

Had lunch with an old friend I haven’t seen in too long today. But he too worries about falling, takes my arm, declares I’m not going to fall on his watch. We had a great time catching up on kids and grandkids (he knows my kids, needs a refresher course every now and then) and I’ve met his, kept up with their doings through the years. But we ended up in a kind of morbid discussion of people who were ill and who had died—to the point that I told him so-and-so had died, he exclaimed, “She died?” And then we both laughed. It was like too much. I guess it’s age, though he’s a good fifteen years younger than I am.

Proud that tonight I finally finished edits, rewriting on my Murder at Peacock Mansion manuscript. And then I cleaned out the cheese drawer in my fridge. Central Market has the most amazing wall of cheeses from all over, mostly Europe and the US. I can't resist buying, often of course the one they have on display. I tend to end up with a hunk of this and a hunk of that, and I’m not sure what any of them are. So tonight I made fromage fort, a recipe that is all over the web now but I originally found through Jacques Pepin, who said his father used to make it.

Take about a pound of leftover cheeses, add three or four cloves garlic (the garlic gets really strong so go gentle), a tsp. of pepper, and a half cup dry white wine. Blend in food processor (I’m sure Pepin’s father did not have one, but it’s the easy way to do it). You end up with a spread that is different every time but earns its French name which means “strong cheese.” If you use leftover Roquefort or blue, it’s a whole different thing. Tonight I had cheddar, havarti, manchego, and a few I didn’t know what they were. Saving tasting it for tomorrow night’s dinner guests.

Yep, writing, cooking, entertaining—I’m getting my groove back. Now for my self-confidence.

Not so good

Me: I'm going to cook dinner now.
Jacob: Thank God!
Me: Don't take the Lord's name in vain.
Jacob: I wasn't. I was literally thanking him because I'm starving. That's what  you say, "Thank you God." What is wrong with you people?
Poor boy! Surrounded by people who don't understand him...or maybe he doesn't understand them!
Some days are good, some not so good. Today was a not-so-good day. I had a doctor's appointment this morning--the doctor's office is on the sixth floor, and I have a real phobia about self-service elevators. So Betty goes with me--poor patient Betty. I also don't like the parking garage for reasons I can't quite pin down, but I held on to Betty all the way from the car to the elevator. With my new, improved walking, I should have let go and done it on my own--and now I'm mad at myself. Didn't do any better leaving the building either.
The appointment was at Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine in the department of manipulative medicine--nothing to be nervous about and I wasn't: as evidence, I offer blood pressure of 122/74--can't get much better than that. The resident who saw me before the doctor came in said, "I think you're doing much better than you think you are." I did carry that around with me until Betty said, "He was using positive psychology" on you, and I deflated.
We had a good lunch at Lucille's where they're having shrimp festival. I'm allergic to shrimp but Betty loves them, so I thought that was a good way to repay her for taking me to the doctor. What did she order? Shrimp soup--looked sort of like gumbo but had lots of green peppers in it (another thing I can't/won't eat--and I'm not a fussy eater). All those wonderful shrimp dishes and she orders soup! I had lobster bites (not allergic to lobster or crab--go figure) and enjoyed them.
Then, almost too quickly, it was Jacob time, and we got into our usual argument--he argues, I listen--about who gets to use the computer. Sorry, kid, it's my computer, my work, my life. No! I let him use it for Think Through Math while I fixed his snack and did a couple other things, and then after he calmed down we had a strict but calm "Come to Jesus" talk about the computer. (What did I just say about not taking the name of the Lord in vain?) Scrambled eggs and bacon for supper made us both happy.
But tomorrow I have to make up for my reluctance to take risks today. It will be a busy day--grocery, lunch and dinner plans. No Jacob as he's going home with his other grandparents--the "good" ones who will take him to his baseball games.
I guess this balance/self confidence business is two steps forward, one step backward--so today was one step backward and tomorrow will be two steps forward.

Taking baby steps

Today was my fourth physical therapy session, and by golly I think it's a winner. My regular osteopathic physician referred me to a colleague because I asked about a brace to support my back, particularly when I cook. The brace expert was sort of off hand about the brace--any sacroiliac brace would do--but was much more concerned about my lack of balance and a recent fall (not the first). This time I landed on my left hip and really hurt it. He recommended physical therapy.
I have taken a few classes in my life--yoga, tai chi, and the like--but I really don't like them. I finally had private yoga tutoring at home. A workout was established and that's what I do. So I was resistant to the idea of physical therapy--and besides most programs are for sports injuries, which mine was definitely not.
The doctor's nurse scouted around, found a place not too far from my house, and I checked it out. From the outside, it didn't look inviting--and the lone handicapped spot was clear across an empty parking lot from the door. At that point, I couldn't have done it. So I let my fingers do the walking and found a place that interested me. It pains me to say that I'm in a program to rehabilitate the elderly so they don't fall--could we substitute senior citizens for the word "elderly"?
The people are kind, and though there are other patients there, and I get individual attention, beginning with wonderful, soothing heat on my back and then exercises that don't seem strenuous but are designed to loosen up my sacroiliac (which is apparently stiff as a board) and build strength in my legs. I am usually wiped out when I come from those sessions, and at first I wasn't sure it was helping. The therapist is a really kind young man, he keeps assuring me he won't let me fall, but I was tentative about the walking part, especially where he tried to teach me how to use the cane.
Today I think I finally got it: because I was afraid of falling, I was stiffening up and taking small steps--at one point I said I felt like I was doing the hesitation step and getting married all over again. What he wants me to do is lead with the cane and my weaker leg, take longer steps, knees bent, feet rising off the floor. When I said my goal was to get rid of the cane, he said that would happen but he wanted me to develop a loose, easy stride. And those were the magic words that gave me self confidence. I've been striding around the house all day, bending my knees and lifting my feet. It feels exaggerated, but I'm sure in time I'll modify that. But tonight I'm a really happy camper. Almost can't wait to go back Monday and report all this.
And my anxiety level has plummeted. What a wonderful transformation if happening to me.